


Run, Lost Boys

by heoneymin



Category: K-pop, Monsta X (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Angst, Dark, Eventual Happy Ending, Ghosts, Human Experimentation, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, Implied/Referenced Underage Drinking, M/M, On the Run, Past Character Death, Suicidal Thoughts, Time Travel, bc I'm weak like that, but like, of the past and otherwise
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-08
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2020-01-05 17:57:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18371171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heoneymin/pseuds/heoneymin
Summary: "Slow down,"his mother used to say."You have all the time in the world."Wonho wishes she had been wrong about that.//The Academy runs in his veins, his blood, his heart. It's a parasite controlling his every thought and action, or maybe just another ghost that haunts him.Minhyuk never learned how to let go.





	1. The One With Secrets

**Author's Note:**

> if you think this was loosely inspired by umbrella academy you are 100% correct. also, dramarama.

 

He doesn't belong here.

That is the singular most prominent thought in Wonho's mind from where he stands apart from everyone else, in the shadowy recesses between a robust tree or two and a 19th-century tomb.

A sea of black, suits and dresses and other mourning garb. White, flowers and chairs and paper envelopes. The smell of incense is strong enough to reach even him.

It's scary how fast time flies. Only six years ago, Wonho was one of the faces in that crowd. Six years ago, he belonged.

Now, he isn't supposed to be here. Not at his old headmaster's funeral, not anywhere near his old friends. It's too dangerous.

When he caught wind of headmaster Hye's passing, however, it wasn't sadness or fear that hit him first—it was homesickness. Longing to go back to the place where he spent most of his childhood, the school grounds he once knew like the back of his hand.

Not all memories of the Academy are good ones, but they are all he has. Even if sometimes the pain outweighs everything else, it's still _home_ to him. As cruel as it sounds, he hoped it would no longer be so for the others.

Evidently, he was wrong.

 Hyungwon stands out in a crowd, the same tway he always has. Just a bit too tall, a bit too otherworldly. His face is neutral, passive even, but he has a hand clutched over Minhyuk's shoulder. From where he's standing, Wonho can't make out exactly why Minhyuk is bent over, but from what he _can_ gather, the other man looks like a mess. Changkyun is kneeling next to him with a glass of water, Kihyun not far behind. And Hyunwoo—

Hyunwoo looks tired, tense, his back ramrod straight. Still trying to be the pillar of strength, still always on his guard. It hurts, seeing him. Like this, at all.

Wonho shouldn't have come.

 

*

 

The service is nice.

Little fanfare, for the amount of people present. From class M10 only Wonho's friends showed up, but the entirety of class S17 is huddled together on the right, and a few people of class B21 are quietly whispering in their seats. Wonho recognizes others here and there—a girl from class I01 whose locker was across from his, a boy from G07 who was in the kendo club as well—but not every face is a familiar one.

There's a sense of relief in knowing that most of these people don't bear any connection to him beyond the school.

Music swells, eulogies are said. More whispers pick up and fizzle out like radio static.

Seeing grief and sorrow expressed so openly is comfortingly mundane. The Academy might've been hell on earth sometimes, but these people were the man-made demons that inhabited it. Still human, after all.

Wonho sighs.

Kihyun's eyes snap towards him from across the field.

Wonho's body itches with the need to _run_. Nonetheless, he stays put.

He owes them that much.

 

*

 

It takes a surprisingly long time for Kihyun to find him after the others have moved on, scattered like leaves to search out the warmth of homes or diners, or any other place where such a thing might be on offer.

A chill seeps into Wonho's bones. It has nothing to do with the frigid weather, and everything with the ice in Kihyun's eyes.

"You sure have a lot of guts."

"I didn't run," he blurts out.

Kihyun's steely expression doesn't budge. "Not this time."

Keeping his expression unaffected takes more strength than Wonho is willing to admit. Everything is so, so wrong. They were never supposed to end up like this. _If only—_

"Would it help if I said I'm sorry?"

"That depends on whether you mean it or not."

"I do. For whatever that's worth."

Probably not much, all things considered. The thought cuts sharper than any blade Kihyun could pull on him right now.

Out of all of them, Kihyun was the first to approach him in those early days. Sat right next to him in the waiting area in front of the headmaster's office, with a perfect-yet-relaxed posture that spoke volumes.

He didn't want to talk about where Wonho had come from, or why he was crying. He only asked after his bag, and was blue his favorite color? Because Kihyun liked blue a lot. _And are there any books in the bag? Do you like to read, or do you like sports?_

Simple, mindless conversation. Questions meant to get acquainted on a surface level and nothing more.

After Kihyun came Hyungwon, and Hyunwoo, Jooheon and Minhyuk followed suit. Then, eventually, Changkyun too.

And with one decision, Wonho had thrown it all away.

"Why are you here?" Kihyun articulates with such clarity that there is no doubt in Wonho's mind that he's annoyed. Whether it be with Wonho's presence or his past actions matters little.

He averts his gaze. Jerks his shoulders up into a half-hearted shrug.

"Same reason you are. The old man might've been a pain in the ass, and terrible in a lot of ways, but he took care of us."

Kihyun snorts. At least they still seem to be on the same page when it comes to the headmaster's peculiar idea of what it means to raise children.

"Provided a place to sleep and basic education, sure. A purpose, for some of us."

"Better than most of us had before."

Reminders of their lives before the Academy never fail to make its student body uncomfortable, and Kihyun is no exception. He grimaces.

"Can't deny that."

A gust of wind tousles Wonho's hair into his eyes. He needs to get it cut, he thinks as he buries his face deeper into his scarf, eyes glancing up at the dark clouds above.

"Are you staying?" Kihyun asks. Wonho doesn't know what prompted him to do so. His reply is still the same.

"I can't."

"Are you ever going to explain why?"

The first raindrops hit the pavement. Wonho no longer knows how to respond without making things worse.

"Yeah, I thought so," Kihyun scoffs. "Don't know why I bothered."

"I'm sorry."

A blaze of fury crosses the other man's face. "You keep saying that but I don't think you are. Otherwise you wouldn't keep pulling shit like this."

"I—"  Wonho starts to speak.

Then, chaos erupts in the form of Kihyun shoving him into the nearest wall, dragging him along in his surprise. For a second he wonders exactly which words made Kihyun lash out.

Then he realizes.

A bullet buries itself into the wall next to Wonho's shoulder, then another near his knee. A whistle-like noise zooms by overhead. One more round, two. His feet follow Kihyun's pace while his mind struggles to catch up.

He knows these sounds. These guns, the people holding them.

"Shit, shit, shit," the curses spill from his lips, "Not now. Not _here_."

Kihyun ducks behind a large trash container, tossing Wonho on the asphalt next to him.

"What's going on?" His eyes shift from one rooftop to another, window to window, trying to find the source of the assault. He won't find it.

"Keep moving," Wonho grits out between his teeth. He pulls Kihyun up by the hem of his coat. "Come on, go!"

He can worry later about how they managed to find him, _again_. He thought it would take longer after he lost them in Trinidad, but luck really isn't on his side today.

Thoughts flit across Wonho's mind one after another while he tries to think of a way out.

Luckily the graveyard was on the outskirts of town, luckily it's raining. Thinly populated area, weather that discourages people from being outside. Not many places to hide either though, unless you have a way to cloak yourself.

Time agents are the peskiest people Wonho has ever met. Relentless, hard to avoid—or in this case, _find_. Even Kihyun's eyes are useless as long as Wonho doesn't find a way to short-circuit their tech.

Another bullet grazes his thigh. It stings. He presses on.

Kihyun clicks his tongue, leads them into a nearby alley and pulls out his own gun.

"What, are you just going to start shooting at air?" Wonho can't help but ask, incredulous. Kihyun takes aim, focus razor-sharp.

A hauntingly familiar image.  

"At the parts that appear to be waterproof, yes."

Ah.

Wonho berates himself for his own dumb oversight. Rain wouldn't just pass through the agents, even cloaked. He should've realized.

It doesn't take long before the gunshots cease again.

"Think I got them all?" Kihyun pants.

"One, at least," says Wonho. "The others must've regrouped."

His ribs wail in agony, hit by one sharp jab, then another.

He hates being right.

The next blow barely misses the back of his head. Kihyun is less lucky, blood already dripping down his nose and welling up from a gash over his shoulder.

 Wonho manages to knee one assailant in the stomach—or so he assumes—before he gets quite literally swept off his feet and hits the ground with a thud. His ears ring. Everything hurts. He feels tired, in a way that runs deeper than any sleep can fix. If he wasn't so numb, he would cry.

All he wanted was to go home.

A loud crash resonates throughout the street.

Wonho swivels his head around, only to find one of the remaining agents trapped beneath the metal container they had been hiding behind a minute before. The man's form flickers in and out of view as his cloaking tech struggles to stay functional.

"Kihyun, what the hell! You said you'd only be gone for five minutes!" Changkyun comes careening around the corner, levitating a detached car door as a makeshift shield in front of him.

 "Well I didn't plan to get attacked, for starters!"

Changkyun rushes over to help Kihyun back on his feet. He only seems to realize that Wonho is there as well when the latter pushes himself upright and fails to stifle a pained moan.

Changkyun sucks in a breath, eyes widening behind his glasses.

"I have a feeling I missed something here."

"Not much," Kihyun barks out a humorless laugh, "I'm just as clueless as you are."

"You can continue chewing me out later," Wonho interjects, "Where's the last one?"

"Last what?"

"Kihyun shot one guy, Changkyun got another, but there's always three of them. Where's the last one?"

Wonho gets his answer in the shape of a man-sized hole appearing in a wall two buildings over, scattering pieces of brick and debris across the street.

Odd dust patterns swirl in the nearby puddles of rainwater. The way the agent's body bounces off the street and into a lamp post would be comical if Wonho didn't know firsthand how painful such a hit can be.

"Anyone here wants to explain the situation?" Another voice chimes in. Something ugly lodges itself in Wonho's throat, refusing to let him breath or even blink or look up to meet the others' eyes. He wants to run, _again_ , but his leg burns where the bullet hit and his head spins from exertion.

It has been a long day.

"Don't look at me," Kihyun responds easily, "I just got dragged along for the ride."

"I'm sorry," Wonho starts. Kihyun unsheathes a knife from _somewhere_. 

"I swear to God, if you apologize one more time—"

" _Kihyun_."

"Don't 'Kihyun' me,  I don't want apologies, I want an explanation."

Hyunwoo puts a firm hand onto Kihyun's shoulder and maneuvers him two steps away from Wonho.

"Then we better make sure we get one. Stabbing him would be counter-productive."

"Fine then," Kihyun sniffs. A small, hesitant smile breaks out on Wonho's face. Despite everything, Kihyun wouldn't seriously hurt him, that much he is certain of.

"Let's tie these people up and get out of here."

 

*

 

Wonho isn't surprised to learn most of the Academy's former students still live within its bounds. It's spacious after all, with enough distance between the class buildings and housing complexes to make it feel like a city block more than a school. A few graduates of the Academy had already been living there while Wonho himself was a student, but back then most of them were also teachers or staff members.

He can't fault anyone for staying though. Moving from the dorms to one of the apartment buildings is fairly easy, and it's practical to stick close together in their line of work. He does keep up with his former classmates' heroics from time to time, though it always reminds him of what could have been.

If given the choice, he would have stayed too.

It's Kihyun and Hyunwoo's shared living space that they end up in, if only for the fact that Kihyun is in dire need of fresh clothes. Wonho is too, but by lack of spare clothes of his own, he ends up borrowing a pair of Hyunwoo's sweatpants and a shirt. The fabric is soft, clean and well-kept. It smells vaguely like lavender.

Being enveloped in Hyunwoo's scent, his clothes, his home, it all tugs at Wonho's heartstrings in a way not much does these days. There's nostalgia, of course, but more than that it's the way that Kihyun doesn't hesitate to pour him tea as well, how Changkyun hovers after finishing up a call—probably to Hyungwon—and how Hyunwoo's eyes still look at him with a hint of fondness.

Wonho is out of place, if not of his own volition then by the circumstances he has found himself in, and yet they don't shun him.

He lets go of the breath he'd been holding, and talks.

 

*

 

In the year 2145, on the first day of March, a completely unremarkable baby was born to two fairly unremarkable parents. The boy grew up to be a bubbly child, mostly cheerful but with petulant moods every now and then. Normal, no matter how you looked at it.

Then, at five years old, he got spooked by an oncoming car and _jumped_. Not to the front or to the side; nothing that ordinary. Instead, he felt himself pulled from the street to the safety of his bedroom, a good fifty yards away.

His mom saw the whole thing. She was livid. She told him to never do anything like that again, and to make sure his dad never found out. So he kept as quiet as a mouse.

For a while, at least.

At age seven, he snuck out into the forest behind their backyard. It was dark and scary, but far away from prying eyes. He closed his eyes, held his breath, and jumped.

Again and again, energy crackled around him. The more he practiced, the further he managed to go. Disappearing in one place, appearing in the next. Breathe in, and out. It was second nature.

Books of children's tales made way for those of history, regaling the appearance of people with extraordinary abilities. He figured he must be one of them. For a child, it all felt terribly exciting.

For his mother, it was a nightmare come to life.

She worked at the police office you see, not the local kind but the sort of big building with people in suits and with briefcases that gleamed in the light. It was the type of place where they kept those who committed truly atrocious crimes, like murder or time-alteration.

Wonho know of time-criminals. Everyone knew. He grew up surrounded by stories of what happened to people that tried to mess with the natural flow of time—they always failed, were caught and put on trial and locked away. In a best-case scenario.

Truth be told, he had always found his mother's workplace to be a scary place, but his mom was nice, and kind, and so it couldn't be _that_ bad.

Only much, much later would he entertain another thought—that the powers he had been born with could somehow be linked to his mother's time at the Agency.

As a lost and confused eight-year-old, however, all Wonho knew to explain was that his mother had come to pick him up from school barely an hour after she dropped him off that fateful Thursday morning, drove them home and packed his favorite sports bag to the brim. She hugged him, for a very long time, arms locked tight around his shoulders. An old-fashioned watch was pressed into his hands.

"Hold onto this, no matter what, alright?" she said, with the saddest smile Wonho had ever seen on her. "And hide it, don't tell anyone."

Not wanting his mother to wear such a sorrowful expression, he agreed. He would have promised her the world if it would make her laugh again.

She brushed a hand through his hair and kissed his forehead.

"I love you, remember that. Even if you start to doubt everything else, please, don't ever doubt that."

The watch beeped, and his mother pushed him backwards, harsh enough to hurt if he'd hit the ground. On instinct, second nature, he jumped.

He landed in a bush behind the gates of Hye Academy in August of 1999. It was a bright, sunny Tuesday afternoon.

No matter how many buttons he pushed or turned on the watch, no matter often he tried to jump back, he couldn't get home. He was well and truly stuck.

It was the first Horrible Day of Wonho's life.

 

*

 

The days after that came easier.

The headmaster took him in without question, which was slightly odd but nonetheless appreciated. From what he was told, headmaster Hye tended to do strange things like taking in stray kids, those who were outcasts or otherwise unwanted.

Wonho wasn't unwanted though, he insisted, just misplaced. The teachers wore the same sad smile his mother had.

They put him in class M10, together with 12 other boys. Their ages differed, but it mattered little for the classes they took. They were all weird, like him, though they explained that they had chosen to be so.

The specific requirement for the school was _potential_ , they told him, to be great and special. The classes—that weren't always classes, but doctor's visits and checkups and tests—were a tool to unlock that potential.

Wonho didn't care how unordinary the school was. For the first time, he was allowed to use his power. For the first time, he made friends who were as bizarre as him.

Hyunwoo who took any punch and threw it back twice as hard, Kihyun whose sharp eyes and ears got him into trouble more often than not. Hyungwon whose voice was the prettiest thing Wonho ever heard, but rarely spoke. Minhyuk, who spoke twice as much to make up for it, and somehow knew the deepest secrets of people he had never even met. Jooheon and Changkyun, one a force of nature and one of willpower. The telekinesis was cool, but Jooheon accidentally setting his homework on fire? Less so.

They gave him back his laughter, his childhood. He lived. He grew up.

And yet.

No matter how much he came to love every single one of his friends, he could never bring himself to tell them the truth.

His mother's watch sat heavy on his wrist.

He made a promise, after all.

 

*

 

A few days before his eighteenth birthday, he and Hyunwoo snuck off the school grounds.

A few days before his eighteenth birthday, his mother's colleagues found him, with their sleek suits and shiny briefcase in hand.

They opened fire.

It took ages to knock them out, and even then Hyunwoo was barely able conscious at the end of it. For two teenagers against three trained agents, it was a miracle they survived at all.

Wonho spent the night next to Hyunwoo's bed in the infirmary, listening to the whir of machinery and the beeping that signified his friend's heartbeat. He felt afraid, terrified at the possibility of losing the piece of happiness he'd found at the Academy alongside his classmates.

He had already lost one family. He couldn't bear to lose another.

The next morning, he got called to the headmasters office.

He remembers standing up, as if in a daze, and trudging down the hallway to the teachers' wing. He stopped halfway.

When he turned around and headed back to his room instead, he kept his step steady as the rhythm of a metronome. He packed his bag. Walked out the door, one foot in front of the other. Nobody paid him any mind. Nobody tried to stop him.

It was for the best.  

Wonho decided that he would do anything to keep his friends safe, even if that meant no longer being friends at all.

At the edge of the Academy's grounds, he took a deep breath, and held it.

He stepped through the gate and ran.

Thus ended the second Horrible Day of Wonho's life.

 

*

 

"So you're telling me," Kihyun's voice breaks the uncomfortable silence hanging over them, "That these guys have been after you for over _six years_?"

Changkyun, in contrast, looks caught halfway between elation and horror. "Personally I'm more concerned by that whole, oh I don't know, _being from the future thing_."

"Changkyun, you move things with your mind, time-travel is less surprising than someone trying to murder our childhood friend," Kihyun points out.

Wonho clears his throat.

"I don't think they actually want me dead. Just incapacitated. I overheard one of them mention this being an arrest once."

"An arrest?" Changkyun's eyebrows knit together. "For what crime?"

"I don't know."

If he knew, maybe he wouldn't be in this mess. But finding out would entail getting caught, and somehow, Wonho doubts that any of the agents sent after him are up for a friendly chat about their motivations.

Kihyun puts his cup down with enough force to rattle the rest of the tableware.

"Enough is enough. Even _if_ this is somehow connected to your mother, _you_ didn't do anything. What gives them the right to hunt you down like an animal?"

"Does it matter why? As long as they're after me, I can't stay here. They'll find me again, and more people might get hurt if they do."

 "You're staying."

Wonho nearly jumps out of his chair from shock. Those are the first words Hyunwoo has spoken to him directly since he threw their day into chaos.

"They're not getting you either."

Wonho doesn't know how to respond to a statement spoken with such conviction. Especially not when it pertains to himself. So he presses his lips together pretends to take another sip of his—now lukewarm—tea.

Kihyun grins and slaps him on the arm. That perceptive asshole.

"Our leader has spoken. Welcome back, we'll have a party once everyone is here and you don't look ready to keel over."

Changkyun whoops, though Wonho isn't sure if it's at his rejoining of their group or the prospect of a party. Hyunwoo is still visibly on guard, but he only hesitates a split second before ruffling Wonho's hair like he used to do when they were kids. Wonho, in turn, manages to not flinch at the touch.

Conversation is stilted, moves hesitant. The pieces of their friendship no longer line up quite right. Wonho can't bring himself to get upset over it right now. Awkward tension or not, part of him is glad to be back.

The other part won't let him forget about the risks.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'all damn well know why i made this into a superhero-ish school AU instead of a full-blown umbrella academy AU & yes it's so I can dodge the discourse Neo-style
> 
> enjoy ur showho and joohyuk angst coming up folks (next chapter is minhyuk POV, it switches between him and wonho)
> 
> also, to clear things up:  
> M10 = MX  
> B21 = BTS  
> S17 = Seventeen  
> G07 = GOT7  
> I01 = I.O.I  
> etc, I'll usually mention in the A/N which groups I'm alluding to lol


	2. The One With A Mistake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is where the past character death tag kicks in. if you've seen umbrella academy, you know what that means. or, y'know. if you look at the other tags

 

There are certain things Minhyuk has come to expect when attending funerals. Somber faces and stiff suits for starters. Condolences being handed out like concert flyers, easily picked up and then discarded again. On a more personal level, a massive headache and nausea are part of the deal as well.

What is not on the list of things Minhyuk associates with funerals is being told his presumed-missing childhood friend showed up out of the blue, got attacked, and had to be saved by his other friends.

It's barely noon and Minhyuk already regrets leaving his bed this morning.

He wants to be happy that Wonho is alright, truly, he does. But all he can focus on on the way to Kihyun's is the perpetual ache of loss gnawing at his heart. There are too many unanswered questions, too many how's and why's. Even when they finally get inside and confirm with their own eyes that yes, that is definitely Wonho sitting on their couch, it doesn't feel real.

Then again, it doesn't feel like a hallucination either.

Changkyun takes charge of retelling the events of the past hour or so, with Kihyun providing details the former missed out on, like Wonho's presence at the funeral. Minhyuk takes comfort in the fact that Wonho looks as uncomfortable as he himself feels. Something about his hunched shoulders _—_ as if he tries to take up as little space as possible while his old friends talk amongst themselves _—_ rubs Minhyuk the wrong way. Their lives had been thrown into chaos after he left, and now everything settled down again his reappearance does the exact same thing.

Why did he come back? What did he expect to happen? There is so much Wonho has missed, so much he never shared with the rest of them. He can't do this to them, not again.

Hyungwon seems to have less hang-ups about the situation. Though quiet, he's nodding and engaging in conversation. It's a warmer welcome than Minhyuk is willing to give. He only lasts a few more minutes before he chirps out, "I have a question."

All eyes turn to him. The apprehension in them is annoying to say the least, but if Minhyuk has to be the one to ask what nobody else will, then so be it.

"Why come back now?"

Almost imperceptibly, Wonho's jaw tenses. He shrinks in on himself even more.  

"The news mentioned _—_ "

"The headmaster's death, I'm aware," Minhyuk cuts him off. "But it's not the first death they've announced on public broadcast."

The tension that statement brings forth is palpable, from Kihyun's sharp inhale to Hyunwoo's shift in stance. It needs no further explanation _—_ everyone knows what and _who_ Minhyuk is talking about.

"I _—_ I didn't learn about it until well after the funeral."

"And still, that wasn't worth a visit? A call?" Minhyuk tries to keep his voice level, tries to reason himself out of his bitter disappointment, but all he can see is the space Wonho left behind in their lives. His desk in class, his spot at graduation, one team member missing at every meeting after that. An empty front row seat at a funeral.  

"You could haul yourself halfway across the world for that crusty old man but not for Jooheon?"

Hyungwon elbows him in the side. The look of agony on Wonho's face is one that Minhyuk has seen too often in the mirror.

"Minhyuk, I'm _—_ "

"I don't want to hear it. I'm happy you're safe," _—_ and he is, or he knows he will be _—_ "but I really need to be alone right now." He swallows, keeps himself from breaking a little longer. Behind his closed eyelids, he can hide and pretend things are less complicated.

His trek back towards the hallway is hurried and surely impolite, but Minhyuk is past the point of caring. His vision blurs at the edges, ripples. There's a ringing in his ears, a catch in his breath. He can't stay here, not like this.

He fumbles with the first jacket within reach _—_ probably not his, but the others won't mind _—_ and flings the front door open. Behind, he can already hear footsteps trod after him.

Left, down the staircase, right, down another hallway. Second door on the right, then down a few more steps, and Minhyuk quickens his pace down the garden path.

Changkyun is faster.

"That was uncalled for."

"Was it?" Minhyuk wonders out loud. HIs anger might not be rational, but it is, in his eyes, justified.

"Jooheon's death wasn't as sensationalized as the headmaster's, and you know it," Changkyun lowers his voice. "Less info released to the public, private service with security up to eleven. It makes sense that Wonho wouldn't have made it."

The argument leaves a sour tang in his mouth, chemical and fake like citrus-flavored prescription pills. Of all people, Minhyuk thought Changkyun would understand. Jooheon was his best friend too.

"He still could have reached out afterwards."

Changkyun's hand finds the crook of his elbow. He tugs Minhyuk closer to his side, even though Minhyuk still refuses to look at him.

"He was scared. Fear overrides logic sometimes."

"Overrides friendship too, apparently," Minhyuk scoffs. He feels Changkyun's muscles pull taut, the vibration of barely-contained power simmering beneath the surface. It hides the shaking of Minhyuk's own hands.

"I loved Jooheon too, and yes I'm pissed at Wonho for not being there when we needed him. But I refuse to pin the full blame on him. You know damn well Jooheon wouldn't have wanted that."

And oh, Minhyuk knows that beyond a doubt, knows it like the cold in his bones and the shiver down his spine, even before a whispered _< He's right you know> _slithers across his mind in a too-familiar voice.

"Stop it," he breathes out in a puff of air, dissolving into nothingness. His nerves rattle around in a small plastic bottle that he left behind in his nightstand today. Another wrong choice.

"Minhyuk, are you alright?"

Concern crawls into the other's tone and the only thing Minhyuk can do to make it go away is mumble out, "Yeah, just _—_ Anxiety hit and I don't have my meds on me. I have to get home."

"I'll walk you."

"No, please. Just... Leave me alone for a while, alright?" He asks, _begs_. "Go back and tell the rest I'll drop by again tomorrow. Just give me one day."

"Alright," Changkyun concedes, "One day."

He takes another moment to look at Minhyuk, expression unreadable. Then he reaches out and buttons the coat Minhyuk is wearing a little higher, unties his own scarf and winds it around Minhyuk's neck. Once he's done, his hands linger on the fabric.

"It didn't used to be this bad," he mumbles. Minhyuk barks out a laugh.

"Nothing used to be this bad."

They used to be seven. They used to be a team. Jooheon used to be here, and Minhyuk used to think he wasn't insane. A sigh brushes against the back of his neck, raises goosebumps over his arms.  

Changkyun reels him into a hug. His arms are warm where they circle Minhyuk's torso, cage in his ribs and rest over his shoulderblades.

"I'm sorry."

Minhyuk is so sick of apologies.

"Why?" he asks, "We're still here, aren't we? Alive and kicking."

Changkyun's hum resonates through their surroundings.

"I suppose we are."

 

*

 

The lock clicking shut behind him does little to make Minhyuk feel safe. Doors can be broken down, walls crumble. Even when they hold, they are only good for deterring threats of a physical kind.

Minhyuk's worst enemy has always been his own mind.

To his nightstand he walks, reaches out into its depths and counts one, two, three. Another two to make sure. The pills go down with practiced ease.

The treachery of his brain is slow and intimate.

 _< You're taking too many again.>_ it speaks in bright blonde hair and hazel eyes.

"I don't care," Minhyuk replies, "You're not here."

The apparition ignores his protests as usual.

_< Changkyun is worried too. I know you won't do it for me, but... Maybe, for him?>_

"He isn't the one stuck with these hallucinations." Minhyuk squeezes his eyes shut. Blocking out images is the easy part _—_ the voices, those are the ones that remain no matter what.

And to think, once upon a time he believed this to be a gift.

_< I'm sorry.>_

The words make him want to cry. Hallucination or not, Jooheon is the last person that should be feeling sorry for Minhyuk.

"Why?" He chokes out, "I'm still here, aren't I?"

He is the one left behind, he is the one unable to let go. Alive and barely living. He wants to see Jooheon again so badly, but not like this. What he wants is forever unreachable now.

"Just leave me alone."

Jooheon doesn't respond to his plea. He doesn't get the chance to.

The front door blasts off its hinges, and more than the noise it's the image that burns itself into Minhyuk's memory, wood splinters and smoke bursting the tranquility of his living room. He can't tell exactly what hits him, but it's strong enough to make his eyes water and stomach roil before the world turns dark.

Without nightmares for the past to haunt him in, it's the quietest sleep he has gotten in years.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> why do i keep turning jooheon into a ghost in my fics? idk either


	3. The One With(out) A Plan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> waddup im late bc real life got the best of me

 

If Wonho's life were a movie, this would be the part where silence lingers, the shot panning over to the flutter of Changkyun's scarf as he chases after Minhyuk. It would be quiet enough to hear a pin drop, fade to black, transition to the next scene.

In reality, Changkyun isn't even out the door yet before Kihyun clears his throat and Hyunwoo exhales loudly. Hyungwon shifts slightly from his spot next to the window, just enough to look outside into the garden. A carhorn blares nearby.

Surprisingly—or perhaps not—Kihyun is the first to comfort him.

"Don't worry about it too much. Sometimes he just gets like this. He usually bounces back in a day or two."

Wonho has trouble believing him. There is worry written in the way Kihyun's crossed arms fail to conceal the twitch of his fingers, in the way he exchanges a glance with Hyungwon. They trade spots in unspoken agreement.

"Does he?" Wonho asks.

Minhyuk's moods always leaned towards the unpredictable, but even then there used to be a serenity behind it all, a confidence that is no longer present.

"He seems... Different. You all do."

Hyungwon shrugs.

"We are, and we aren't. So are you."

"For example," Kihyun interjects, "Hyungwon is still a man of few, if vague, words."

"And unfortunately, you became a lot more outspoken," Hyungwon snaps back. Wonho can't tell if it's meant to be a jab or an observation.

"Well, one of us needs to be."

Hyunwoo's brow furrows at those words. They must have had this discussion before then. Just one more thing that reminds Wonho that he missed years of his friends' lives.

Kihyun steals a final glance out the window, then jerks his head towards the kitchen.

"Come on Little Mermaid, help me prepare dinner. I'll let you take first pick of dessert."

The nickname, Wonho does remember. It still makes Hyungwon sulk exactly the same way too.

"Wonder if someone has a trident I can stab you with."

"No need to be dramatic," Kihyun laughs, "There's more than enough knives in the house."

To Wonho, it feels like Kihyun and Hyungwon are in a bubble of their own making, built on years of experience in dealing with uncomfortable situations. It's not ignorance though, nor turning a blind eye. Feigning nonchalance would be a better description. Their banter flows easily, but remains light for as long as Wonho can hear.

Once he can't, his attention drifts to Hyunwoo instead. Their eyes meet. Maybe one day, Wonho will figure out why such a simple action makes him feel so small. Music floats through the air, static and soft melodies intertwined. Kihyun must have turned the radio on.

Hyunwoo inclinces his head in an implicit question, and Wonho, eternally bad at playing the waiting game, replies in the sheepish tilt of his lips, the heat rising up the back of his neck, and careful words.

"Are you mad at me?"

Hyunwoo, bless his heart, smiles back.

"No. Not anymore."

 _But I used to be_ , lingers after.

"Disappointed, then?"

A nod.

"Somewhat."

Wonho grimaces.

"At least you're honest about it."

Hyunwoo's bluntness is one of his best qualities, in Wonho's opinion. It meant he never had to question Hyunwoo's motives or worry about hidden intentions. Even more than building trust, Hyunwoo excells in sustaining it, proving himself worthy of it over and over again.

Wonho wishes he could say the same about himself. He tries his best not to lie, tries his best to be a good person, but so far it has been pretty much in vain. Lies of omission are still lies, and there is more blood on his hands than he's comfortable with.

"How long did you plan on staying?" Hyunwoo asks, "If kihyun hadn't come after you?"

Wonho's gut instinct still tells him to keep his secrets, to divulge as little information as possible, but years of running coupled with his affection towards Hyunwoo scream otherwise. If there is anyone in the world Wonho can tell the truth to, it's Hyunwoo. Like old times. He just needs some practice.

"A day, maybe two. The only time i risk staying longer is when I'm in a highly populated area and manage to blend in."

"How much longer?"

"A week, I think," It's hard to remember the amount of time he spent in each location. He long lost count. "I made it up to twelve days in Hong Kong, but big cities also make it harder to run away."

 _Cities make it harder to avoid casualties_ , Wonho doesn't say, but Hyunwoo knows the implications. He has lead enough missions to exerpience them firsthand. 

"Why did you—" Hyunwoo cuts himself off, swallows the words like sour candy. From the corner of his eye, Wonho spots the clock jump from 3:59 to 4 P.M. in bright red streaks of light.

"Told you," he mumbles back, "To attend the funeral. I felt like I should make it to at least one of them." It hurts to admit even this much.

"That's not what I wanted to ask."

And Wonho's life still isn't movie-perfect, the silence that falls is neither razor-sharp nor cinematic in any way. It's just Hyunwoo and him sitting on opposite couches, testing the waters, trying to find a bridge to communicate across.

A once-easy thing turned complicated with time.

"Why did you run?"

Wonho closes his eyes. He doesn't want to see the disappointment, the frustration, the sense of betrayal Hyunwoo must feel. 

"I was scared, I guess. Of being caught, at first."

His eyes drop down to the black fabric stretched across Hyunwoo's left arm. He knows that there must be scars, etched reminders that Wonho's presence is a danger on its own.

"Of other people getting hurt."

"You could have talked to us," Hyunwoo says, and Wonho knows, he _knows_ already, but knowledge has never been the only thing guiding his choices. "We were a team."

The past tense in that sentence drives a blade into his chest.

The doorknob rattles.

Changkyun is back.

The atmpsphere shifts like the tides, conversation ebbing towards food and movies and missions. Over dinner, they each take turns avoiding the elephant in the room—as well as the man-sized absence in their midst.

When night falls, nobody will let Wonho go back to his motel room. He ends up tangled with a pile of blankets and a pillow on the couch he already spent the majority of the evening on. He runs his hands over it with apprehension. It's not that he minds sleeping on the couch.

He minds sleeping anywhere within a two mile radius of his friends.

"Would you relax?" Kihyun grumbles, "The security system here is leagues above whatever set-up you have."

Wonho can't deny that, but the unease at the pit of his stomach remains.

"I really think that—"

"That's the problem, you think," Hyunwoo states so matter-of-fact it makes Wonho question his existence thus far.

"What is this, a hostage situation?"

"Want me to put him to sleep?" Hyungwon asks with a conspiratory grin thrown Kihyun's way.

"Absolutely not," Wonho splutters, "Keep your lullabies away from me."

Hyungwon laughs, clear and leaning dangerously close towards hypnotic. "Doesn't have to be a lullaby. I could just ask."

"Don't—"

" _Sleep_."

 

*

 

Wonho forgot just how much he loathes Hyungwon's powers at times.

The Siren's call isn't exactly something you learn to ignore or something you can train to defend against. It's very useful in that regard, but also a complete pain in the ass when you're on the receiving end.

He can't get mad at Hyungwon for putting him to sleep though. He was just trying to help. Even if he used his power on Wonho, Wonho knows he would never think of truly using it against him. Little things like 'pass the salt' and 'change the channel' are as far as Hyungwon goes at home, teasing more than commands. Even in the heat of the moment during missions, he holds back as much as he can. The call's effects have proven irreversible in the past, so Hyungwon is more likely to not speak at all than risk saying the wrong thing.

Sleep is easy, waking up is too. A whispered _'Wake up'_ hours later, and Wonho sits up with a start. Hyungwon looks apologetic, so yes, Wonho can't bring himself to lash out. He tried to warn them of the risks of keeping him around, they chose to ignore him.

Now he has shaken off the last bits of sleep that clung to his consciousness, he realizes that alright, he might feel bitter over it after all.

He didn't miss out on much though, if Hyungwon is to be believed, and not five minutes later Hyunwoo walks in with an extra mug of coffee for him. He lets its warmth seep into his skin before taking a sip. To the rhythm of the kitchen clock ticking away, Wonho gets lost in thought. 

He can't help but feel he's taking advantage of his old friends' hospitality, like a thief in the night grabbing hold of something that no longer belongs to him—or maybe it never did. Once upon a time they promised to tell each other everything, but Wonho with his insecurities and his guilt kept his secrets closer to his heart than he did his friends.

He wants it to be different though. He wants to spend evenings watching TV with Kihyun and argue with Changkyun over which fast food place is better, to nudge Hyungwon after one joke too many and have the other man swat his arm in fake-annoyance. He wants to talk things out with Minhyuk.

He wants to tell Jooheon he's sorry, that he wishes he could have been there for him.

He wants to sneak up onto the roof with Hyunwoo to watch the stars, to train with him, wooden swords clashing in a dance so intricate it took them years to learn the steps. Wonho still remembers all of it. If he's lucky, maybe Hyunwoo does too.

Deep underneath all of his fears, Wonho _wants_.

 

*

 

Minhyuk doesn't return.

Changkyun assured them he would, so they give him more time than they reasonably should.

Kihyun gets groceries, Changkyun goes to drop of some files at the faculty office. Hyunwoo pours over mission reports—Wonho spots a robbery or two, arson, fraud—with Hyungwon's help. Wonho leafs through the odd magazine lying around, makes lunch, and then wastes time trying to fold little origami animals from glossy torn-out pages.

The clock strikes three in the afternoon, and none of them hear from Minhyuk still.

It takes another five minutes past the hour before Kihyun snaps and grabs his coat. Wonho is already up and offering to go with him, _just give me a minute to find my jacket I could have sworn I put it here—_ but Hyunwoo grabs him by the shoulder and leads him back inside.

Too dangerous to go out with those agents still running amok.

Wonho wants to punch something. The Agency meddling in his affairs is exactly what Wonho is worried about. They never should have let Minhyuk leave on his own.

Hyungwon and Changkyun run after Kihyun instead, and the darkest parts of Wonho's mind taunt him that Hyunwoo would have gone too, if he didn't feel personally responsible for babysitting Wonho.

The conflicting feelings drive him mad. The desire to help, the desire to hide. Longing for the past, dreading its implications. He wants to be near Hyunwoo, but also wants to be as far away from him as possible.

There is no space to think within these walls, nowhere to run and no way to forget. Wonho hasn't felt this trapped since he was a child and woke up in the Academy's infirmary for the first time after he'd crashed.

One thing is for sure though: not actively participating in the search for Minhyuk's whereabouts make him feel absolutely useless. Especially when there's a very real possibility that his friend might be in danger because of him.

He jolts at the touch of Hyunwoo's hand coming to rest over his elbow.

"Are you alright?"

The sound that leaves Wonho is the saddest excuse of a laugh he has ever heard.

"Just peachy."

"I'm sorry. I know you want to help."

"Yeah, well," Wonho sags into the couch. "I know you want to do the same."

Hyunwoo's follows his example and lets his head fall back. He stares up at the ceiling like it might hold the solution to all of life's problems. Wonho imagines it's how he used to look at Hyunwoo when they were younger.

"It doesn't always matter what we want though, does it?"

"No, it doesn't," Hyunwoo agrees.

Wonho lets his eyes wander again, from Hyunwoo's form over to the coffee table and the bookshelf in the corner, the pictures decorating cream-white walls. A few are familiar, most aren't. There's their class picture, a series of random shots from various trips Kihyun must have been on. Wonho recognizes scenic shots from Bali and Peru, one that might be Laos. On the far wall, there's two solitary paintings. The signature on them is Minhyuk's.

Hyunwoo follows his gaze and confirms his suspicions.

"Ah, Minhyuk made those."

More than nostalgia, it's pride that blossoms in Wonho's chest.

"They're pretty good. He improved a lot."

The fall and winter landscapes captured in the frame are a far cry from the boyish scribbles Minhyuk used to make, paint splattered across skin and clothes alike.

"He'll be happy to hear that," Hyunwoo carries on, softer, sadder than Wonho expected. "He struggled a lot with it after we lost Jooheon."

Ah. That would explain Hyunwoo's lack of enthusiasm for the topic.

"How bad was it?" Wonho presses on.

"Reasonable, at first," Hyunwoo considers. "We were all in a bad place, then. Took a while to piece things back together."

There is a pause in his words, a span of resting time wherein Wonho can feel the seconds slide by. Hyunwoo's hands come to rest together in his lap. They lie there, unmoving, with their owner staring down at them in lack for anything to reach out for. In days gone by, Wonho wouldn't have hesitated to slide closer and line their palms up in a mockery of prayer.

In the present day, he doesn't know if he still has any right to reach out first.

So he waits, while Hyunwoo talks.   

"We didn't notice just how bad Minhyuk had taken it until the rest of us had already recovered from the worst of it, and he hadn't."

"Were they—" There is no way for Wonho to end that sentence tactfully, but luckily he doesn't need to.

"They weren't dating, if that was what you were going to ask. Who knows, maybe... There are a lot of things that could have been, but never were."

"They would have been good," Wonho says.

Hyunwoo nods, a wistful smile forming at the corners of his mouth.

"They would have."

"We were. Weren't we?"

Wonho wishes that he didn't feel the need to ask this question. That he could be certain that at some point in his life, his actions held meaning.

Hyunwoo laughs, and Wonho's heart breaks and soars in equal measure.

"For one disastrous date, yes. I think we were."

There are so many more things Wonho needs to say, to ask, to plead for. But it is hard to form words when he can't even ascertain his emotions. He doesn't want to give Hyunwoo false hope, nor himself. He's through with making promises he can't keep.  

"I took a few art classes with Minhyuk, actually," Hyunwoo carries on to Wonho's surprise. "I wanted to know what it was like."

The image of Hyunwoo in a smock trying to mix colors, let alone put a brush to canvas, is pretty hilarious. Wonho masks his laugh as a huff, quickly asking, "Did you have fun?"

"Not really," Hyunwoo shrugs, "But it was therapeutic anyway."

"Like kendo used to be?"

"Yeah. Like kendo used to be. It never felt the same after you left."

 _It never felt the same without you either_ , Wonho thinks, but he is too much of a coward to admit it out loud.

Hyunwoo probably figures it out by the look on his face anyway.

 

*

 

The next few hours pass in a blur.

When Kihyun calls, he jumps straight into a cascade of information without pause until Hyungwon steps in and physically takes the phone from his hands. He is the one to informs Hyunwoo and Wonho that yes, something is definitely wrong. If Minhyuk's absence alone wasn't enough reason for concern, the gaping hole where his front door used to be certainly is.

They managed to get some useful information out of Minhyuk's neighbors at least, although it remains unclear whether Kihyun's murderous aura contributed anything to the loosening of their lips. There was a blast around five 5 P.M., Hyungwon says, violent enough to trigger the building's fire alarm and evacuate all of its inhabitants. Both the police and the fire department arrived soon after, and while nothing was confirmed, people blamed the commotion on a freak gas leak.

There is no need for him to mention that no gasleak leaves behind this type of concentrated destruction. Only Minhyuk's living room was hit. It must have been deliberate.

One feat of trespassing later, Changkyun returns with Wonho's jacket. A quick sweep confirms that it's bugged—or rather, it used to be. Whatever caused the blast rendered the trinket useless. That fact offers little consolation, however.

Yet another mess that is Wonho's fault. He was the one being followed, he was careless enough to miss the tracker. It's a miracle they didn't locate him while he—his jacket—was still on Academy grounds. Nobody yells at him, or blames him to his face, but that doesn't stop Wonho's mind from reading in between the lines.

Hyunwoo reasons the Academy's signal scramblers might have something to do with that. They all fall silent at the realization.

Minhyuk is the one whom lives the furthest away from the Academy's borders. Changkyun and Hyungwon both live _outside_ as well, but close enough to make a quick commute possible.

Minhyuk didn't see the need.

He had been going on fewer missions anyway. Training less. Wandering more.

According to Hyungwon, Minhyuk said it didn't make much difference. Minhyuk had never been the one in the brightest spotlight, never the primary target for attack. His usefulness lay behind the scenes, he joked, any punch he threw was pretty weak. More suited to stealth than action, the same way Hyungwon was.

He wasn't angry over it. He didn't try to alienate any of them or cut contact. He just increased the physical distance between him and the place they all called home.

In the long run, the results are probably the same. Disastrous.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i didnt proofread this chapter and it probably shows orz


	4. The One Where He Is (Not)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> who's ready for some joohyuk aaaangst??? 
> 
> warnings for this chapter: mention of underage drinking, some self-destrucitve/kinda suicidal thoughts, heavily implied torture (as in, it happens, but I don't describe it graphically) so please keep that in mind! I updated the tags as well.

 

The first thing Minhyuk notices is the sounds.

Echoing unnaturally loud, droplets of water hit the ground in the far left corner. Beyond the only door in the room, something shuffles, moves. The metallic clang of pipes rings in his ears.

The ringing doesn't go away.

Minhyuk isn't a stranger to migraines, whether they're caused by stress or hangovers or another reason altogether. This, this is definitely the worst type.

His head feels like it's about to split apart, a dull throb nestled behind his temples. Everything is too loud, too bright, too much. His mouth feels like cotton.

At least he is upright, he realizes, tied to a chair with rope chafing his wrists and ankles. He doesn't recognize the type of fiber it's made of, but it's sturdy, tied tight enough to leave no room for escape.

It's not hard to guess what situation he's in.

The door slams open.

 

*

 

True to the information Wonho gave them, there's three people responsible for keeping Minhyuk stuck to the chair. If there's more, Minhyuk hasn't had the pleasure of meeting them yet.

Their masks are the the same blank slate, impossible to differentiate. Their voices and personalites are another story.

For a while, he simply names them One - Two - Three.

One is the lankiest of the bunch, though his punches come the quickest, strike the hardest. He seems to like daggers and needles of all sorts. Two is usually with him. She's taller, quieter, and prefers to keep her distance. _Not much use for guns here_ , she grumbles as she drags Minhyuk from one corner of the room to the other, hooks him up to yet another unfamiliar machine.

It's hard to think when they're around. Everything hurts in their presence.

And yet, he would take their physical abuse any day over the taunts of Three.

Three likes to poke and prod on a mental level moreso than the physical one, likes to ask questions even when Minhyuk refuses to answer just to see how he'll react. The worst part is that Minhyuk, inevitably, always does. He's tired and in agony, slowly driven crazy between the incessant interrogations.

They make it clear it's not him they want; they make false promises as if Minhyuk, even in his pitiful state, would even believe them for a second. He knows better. They won't let him go, even if he trades what little he knows of Wonho's whereabouts.  

So he keeps silent or plays dumb, and the only information they get from him is the jerk from his body when a question hits too close to home, when his nerves burn under electrical discharge.

He doesn't figure out anything useful in return either. Hours, possibly days pass, and what he hears is murmurs and codenames and nothing else.

Mocha, Rico, Foxtrot. One, Two, Three.

Mentions of their boss are rare, though they seem to enjoy hackling each other over comments from upper management.

It's exhausting to endure.

 

*

 

Through a haze of pain, fresh and stinging across his back, Minhyuk opens his eyes and sees a figure standing in front of him. It's not any of the agents, nor any of his usual hallucinations.

His eyes trail up in apprehension. His breathing comes in short, panicked bursts.

She's got long black curls, doesn't look a day over twenty, and looks very, very dead. Her skin is tinted blue, streaked red with blood around her nose and mouth. He jumps back in surprise and manages to fall over, chair and all.

All that gives him is Rico's laugh booming throughout the room.

There was nobody else in the room, aside from him and her. The girl was just another hallucination.

In here, there is no way for Minhyuk to take his pills. No way to keep his mind tame and under control. That realization, perhaps even more than the next lash of pain, is what makes him scream out.

 

*

 

After the girl comes another, a man well into his fifties that looks like he got hit by a truck. The sight is enough to make Minhyuk gag. The next one is a woman with short, well-manicured nails encrusted with blood and dirt. She must have tried to dig her way out of something, Minhyuk reasons to keep the hysteria at bay. It doesn't really help.

It feels like each hour, with each blink of his eyes, there's a new face, a new horror waiting for him in the room that only he can see. They try to talk to him sometimes, in tongues Minhyuk doesn't understand. A few times, he snaps back at them. The agents probably think he is going insane.

They're not wrong.

 

*

 

It's almost a relief to see Jooheon's face again.

_< Why aren't you trying to escape?>_

"And how would I do that?" he asks, bitterness lacing every word. He's not strong enough to overpower his captors, doesn't have any powers that would be of use either. He's barely keeping his wits together.

_< By not giving up, for starters. The others are looking for you, you know they are.>_

"No they're not. They'll be too preoccupied with Wonho to notice I'm gone."

 _< Not likely.>_ The vision of Jooheon scoffs. _< No offence, but you're pretty noticeable.>_

"My absence isn't."

_< It is.>_

Minhyuk heaves out a laugh. There is nobody around to judge him for talking to thin air. Nobody to punish him for it, either. It must be night, or whatever time of the day that those cursed agents put aside to sleep. Minhyuk hoped to do the same himself, but sleep is hard to come by considering the circumstances. Someone is wailing behind him, and Minhyuk doesn't need to turn around and look to know it's just another person that's not really there.

It's the same old song, a dozen times worse.

"I'm tired." His voice reflects his words, tone even but somehow sounding miserable even to his own ears. It's pitiful and so uncharacteristic compared to the person he knew himself to be, once upon a time.

 _< Come on,> _Jooheon kneels down to look him in the eye, _ <Don't do this.>_

"What does it matter?"—And why does his mind care to struggle against him, still?—"Just means I get to see you again."

 _< You _are _seeing me right now! >_

Minhyuk stares at the image before him, at fiery hazel eyes and the hint of dimples showing even when Jooheon doesn't want it to, and asks, "Am I?"

Jooheon's likeness sits down on the floor, cursing.

_< Damn it Minhyuk, what am I supposed to do to convince you I'm real?! I've been trying for years.>_

"And that," Minhyuk's head lolls to the side to avoid the other's gaze, "Is why I need the meds."

Mentioning his medication has the same effect it always does: Jooheon quiets down and just stares at him in contemplation. He shuffles closer though, so it seems like it didn't deter him that much. His eyes, always his eyes, trying to catch his own and succeeding. Minhyuk can't look away.

_< Do you remember, when we were seven, the incident with the laundry basket and the soap?>_

Minhyuk does. He doesn't know why Jooheon—his mind—would bring it up now, but it's a welcome distraction. He nods.

"I swear my skin still smells like lemon."

Jooheon smiles encouragingly.  

_< Right. And that time I took Wonho's lunch and—>_

"Pinned the blame on me," Minhyuk finishes. "He ignored me for a full three hours. New record."

He remembers everything about jooheon, how could he not? How he'd complimented Jooheon's hair after he dyed it blonde and the other laughed "You should try it too, it'd suit you." The homework assignments they copied off of one another, their favorite songs.

Jooheon's eyes that never failed to see him for who he really was, rather than what others expected him to be.

_< Why won't you believe I'm me?> _

"Between ghosts being real and me going insane, ghosts aren't what I would bet on," he mumbles back.

 _< I don't need you to believe in ghosts, I need you to believe in me. You _know _me. >_

Minhyuk's heart breaks all over again.

"Yeah, forever in my memories, as the saying goes. Every memory I have, my hallucinations do too."

 _< Then how do you explain the others?>_ Jooheon gestures to his left, at two women shivering on the floor, clutching each other. They're whispering, unintelligible. _< You don't even speak Tagalog!>_

"How would I know the difference between a real language and nonsense? My brain isn't that trustworthy to start with."

 _< But your memories line up with mine. They're not just yours, they're _ours _. > _

_They, them, theirs_. Everything that used to belong to the two of them that has now become only Minhyuk's. Jooheon's notebooks, safely tucked away in a corner of Minhyuk's closet, lest someone find them and try to throw them out. The jacket Minhyuk had borrowed and never returned, not because he forgot, but because it no longer had an owner to return to. 

"Yeah, well. Tell me something I don't know. Maybe then I'll believe you're not something my brain cooked up."

Jooheon seems determined to do just that.

_< Changkyun is the one that stole your favorite pen in sixth grade. The fancy green one.>_

"I could've guessed that."

_< Kihyun kept your fridge stocked during the first year of college. He dropped by with groceries while you were out.>_

"No he didn't," Minhyuk cuts in. "There was never anything in my fridge aside from instant meals and juice. Only things I bought."

_< And he knew you did. You just... Forgot to actually buy them. Too often. You looked like death.>_

The choice of words startles another laugh out of Minhyuk. It puts pressure on his already-aching ribs, but he doesn't mind. "No shit."

He's well aware he looked like death. He still would, if his friends didn't put a stop to most of his self-destructive behavior.

God, when will these hallucinations stop and let him rest? He doesn't know how much more he can take.

Jooheon gets up again and crosses his arms. The stance reminds Minhyuk of every teacher he's ever had. He expects a lecture any second now.

 _< I'm in love with you.> _Jooheon says instead, and Minhyuk's breath stutters to a halt mid-inhale.

_< I realized when I was seventeen and we had the absolutely terrible idea of getting drunk off our asses. You held my hand and comforted me while I had a breakdown over my powers going haywire during the Lefevre mission the week before. I probably looked like a wreck. All blotchy red from the alcohol and tears and snot everywhere. But you still didn't let go. I—>_

"Stop it!" Minhyuk screams, harsh and shrill and one hundred percent enraged. He strains against the bonds tying him down. "Stop it. Stop telling me what I want to hear! Stop making me think about what I can't have! Stop it, stop it, _stop it—_!"

His thrashing and shrieking accomplishes nothing aside from alerting Mocha. Within the minute, Minhyuk is sedated and knocked out.

His sleep is blissfully silent.

 

*

 

Being awake sucks. There's the pain, and interrogations, but most of all there is Jooheon's defeated face no matter where he looks. His skin itches and muscles ache, and Minhyuk can't tell if it's because of the wounds or the withdrawal.

Minhyuk just wants it to end.

 _< We're real,> _Jooheon tries again after a few hours. _ <I told you. Not hallucinations.>_

"No," Minhyuk protests, steadfast even in pieces. "You can't be."

_< Why not?>_

"Because that would be so much worse."

 

*

 

If Minhyuk has to name one thing he loathed about his high school dorm room in the Academy, it would be the old clock that was attached to the wall beside his bed. Its rhythmic tick-tick-tick wasn't impossible to ignore, but in the darkest hours of the night when you woke up from another nightmare—or less than pleasant memory—it kept you awake as sure as your thoughts did.

Now, however, Minhyuk would take the noise if it meant he had any way to tell the passage of time.

He wonders if the others are really looking for him, or if they didn't notice his absence after all. Maybe they tried to find him but gave up. Where had those agents taken him anyway? In this blank slate of a room, he can't deny how bleak his prospects look.

The silence is as unbearable as the torture.

"You did look like a wreck," Minhyuk picks up where their previous conversation left off. He's not sure where imaginary-Jooheon is, exactly, but he knows he's listening all the same. "But mostly just sad, and tired. Like I felt. Still feel."

And he had. If there was a visual representation of rock bottom, it had to be Jooheon on that night. It had to be Minhyuk now.

A cold spot of air brushes past his arm. Jooheon. He looks lost, and helpless, and a whole array of other emotions he can't name. It makes it easier for Minhyuk to pretend there aren't tear tracks on his own cheeks, like he isn't covered in blood and grime.

"I wish you never had to feel like that." He tears up again, quiet and as calm as he's ever been. "I wish you never had to die."

 _< Yeah.> _Jooheon's hand hovers next to Minhyuk's cheek, close enough to touch. Minhyuk doesn't feel anything. _ < Me too.>_

"This is the worst," he chokes out, "Why can't I just give up? Dying's easy, right? I'd be able to be with you again."

_< I'd kick your ass if you tried.>_

"You can't."

 _< I'll figure something out.>_ Jooheon says with such severity Minhyuk has no choice but to believe him. It's so typcally _Jooheon._

"I love you," he forces a smile, and who cares if this Jooheon isn't real, who cares if Minhyuk looks like a fool? He is so sick of keeping the words locked up in the recesses of his heart.

Just once, he wants to say them. Just once, he wants them to be heard.

"I'm in love with you. Probably always have been, ever since you first hit me on the head with that soccer ball in third grade."

_< You sure that wasn't the concussion talking?>_

"It wasn't. _It isn't_." The smile comes easier now, chasing the joy of days long gone. "It's your laughter and how good you are with children, your love for pets and comic books. Your voice. I kept every song you wrote. I know music is more of Kihyun and Hyungwon's thing, but— Even though I can't do your songs justice, I can't give them up. I can't let anyone else sing them."

 _< That's alright.> _Jooheon leans his forehead against Minhyuk's. There is nothing there but _cold_ and a whisper _. <I wrote all of them with your voice in mind anyway.>_

Minhyuk's sniffle turns into a full-out sob. This is the most personal cruelty he's ever known.

 _< We'll get out.> _Jooheon attempts to comfort him, and Minhyuk so badly wants to believe.

"How?"

_< I'm sure we can think of something. Don't give up hope.>_

Minhyuk shakes his head. The world spins around him, Jooheon the brightest spot of color.

"I never did know how to let go."

 

*

 

It comes as little surprise to Minhyuk when Rico eventually drags him out of his chair, throws him to the ground and aims a gun at his head.

He hasn't been of much use to them, after all. There have to be more efficient ways of tracking Wonho down too. Why would they bother to keep Minhyuk around? Vaguely, he's aware that he should struggle more, say something to buy himself some time. Anything at all to delay an untimely death.

But his ears are still ringing and he can barely keep his eyes open. The cement is cool against the bare skin of his arms.

Minhyuk thinks of a half-hearted promise to not give up, of Jooheon's face scrunched up in despair. _I'm sorry_ , he mouths, though he isn't sure if he manages to say it out loud.

There is screaming, shouting—his mind registers the voice belongs to Jooheon. It's no longer the eerie slither of _wrongness_ coursing through him; it's sparks and a _pull_ behind his hands. Everything goes dark.

In the pitch-black, he feels panic and concern and so much longing it throws him off-balance. Rage and heat. Sluggishly, he moves with a body that feels much heavier than it should be.

It hurts.

It hurts.

He hangs on until he can't.

He comes to in the hallway, on his knees, leaning against the wall. Alarms blare around him.  

Fire. Crackling and burning and filling the building with smoke.

_How—?_

_< Run!>_ Jooheon shouts at him, trying in vain to grab onto Minhyuk. His touch feels like water, liquid and elusive.

_Tangible._

Jooheon must be able to read the expression on his face, because he continues with _< You can have a breakdown over this later, I sure am. For now, just run, please!>_

So Minhyuk does.

 

*

 

There are two options.

Either a very convenient accident happened while Minhyuk blacked out, and he just as miraculously found his way to safety, or...

He was the one who caused it.

None of his powers can do _this_ , though.

But he knew someone who could.

 

*

 

Jooheon always had trouble controlling heat.

Water and air, ice and rock and crystals, he picked those up one by one, element by element. But the unpredictability of lightning, fire, a breathing entity that grew and expanded like it had a will of its own—those were the ones he feared. The ones he avoided using at all cost, until teachers or trainers or circumstance forced his hand.

He hated the violence, the destruction it left behind. He described his attempts to control it like sticking a fork in an electrical outlet and then trying to use his body to charge a phone instead of explode it. Minhyuk had chuckled at it then, made a joke to get Jooheon laughing too.

He isn't laughing now.

Now, he knows what it feels like.

 

*

 

Navigating a building you've never seen the floor plan of proves tricky.

It takes a few wrong turns to find a staircase, then a few more to find a proper exit sign. Whatever this building used to be before it got abandoned, Minhyuk thanks his lucky stars for those being left intact.

He must be using his year's supply of luck in this one day, Minhyuk reasons, because just when he's contemplating how to go about unlocking the heavy security door at the end of the hallway, it's ripped off its hinges.

Changkyun looks just as shocked as Minhyuk is. He recovers fast though.  

"Minhyuk?! Are you alright? We heard an explosion and we—"

Another loud crash. The building trembles underneath their feet.

"Keep the pleasantries for later," Kihyun yells over the chaos, "We need to get out of here."

 

*

 

They get out of the building and into their respective cars in record time. None of the agents follow. Minhyuk isn't sure what happened to Rico, but he learns that Wonho and Changkyun had taken care of Mocha, and left Hyunwoo to deal with Foxtrot.

It's ironic how much Minhyuk misjudged his captors. He assumed Foxtrot was the weakest of the bunch, but the gash on Hyunwoo's chest tells a different tale. He made it out though. This time, they all did.

Minhyuk doesn't feel all that relieved.

Those were Jooheon's powers he used. That was Jooheon's touch he felt, even if fleeting.

That was _real_.

It's really Jooheon.

Does this mean every voice, every whisper he ever heard came from spirits all along?

Minhyuk's powers developed at a slower pace than everyone else's, so in theory it's possible they evolved without him realizing. His classmates were already well into their training by the time Minhyuk first heard the voices, even though they all started treatment at the same time, and the images came years and years later. Even then, it used to be just a blur or a shadow at the edge of his vision.

Those were easier to pass off as his imagination or fatigue than it was to ignore Jooheon standing next to him.

He never thought seeing Jooheon was somehow linked to his powers. Why would he? Minhyuk was a mess after the funeral, a liability for even longer. Hallucinations just reaffirmed that his mind was weak and treacherous, as he believed it to be.

But _ghosts_?

Gradually losing his mind in the presence of hallucinations wasn't half as bad as realizing the guy he had a crush on for a good chunk of their lives—and well beyond that, apparently—had seen him at his literal worst over the past few years.

And, his mind once more oh-so-helpfully supplies, told him he had been in love with him too. Still _is_ in love with him, judging by recent events.

Minhyuk doesn't know whether to laugh or cry, so he does neither. As the shock and adrenaline high wears off, he just soaks in the soft hum of the car and hushed conversation all the way back to the Academy. Changkyun is plastered to his left and Hyunwoo has an arm thrown over his shoulders from the right, and it stings but it feels safe.

By the time they reach their destination, the sun is starting to rise. Hyunwoo stays back to help him out of the car, while Wonho practically dashes from the other car to grab medical supplies, Hyungwon not far behind.

They don't notice Jooheon standing by the door, a sheepish, hopeful smile spread across his lips. Of course they don't. 

Minhyuk smiles back.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> My twitter(s): [ @heoneymin](https://twitter.com/heoneymin) / [ @heoneymin_fic](https://twitter.com/heoneymin_fic)


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